


Boiler Rooms and Alcohol Induced Comas

by multifandomcircusfreak



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, stubborn Fitz, things Fitz does to prove he is brave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomcircusfreak/pseuds/multifandomcircusfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz didn't want to go down to the Boiler Room in the first place, but he did, and then he somehow became legendary for his ability to out-drink everybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boiler Rooms and Alcohol Induced Comas

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by littlescienceloves's tag about how Fitz would out-drink everyone in the Boiler Room for the sake of proving he wasn't chicken.

“Remind me again why watching Doctor Who isn’t good enough for you?’ Fitz asked, as he snuck down the stairs to the Boiler Room with his best friend. The Boiler Room wasn’t necessarily against The Academy’s rules, to his knowledge anyway. But, students still seemed to love the thrill of sneaking down there as if they would be caught and punished. Did the professors even know about the hideout? Fitz wasn’t sure.

“Because…” Simmons mused, “We’ve been doing that for the past three weeks. I’m in major need of a change of scenery, Fitz. Plus, a little socializing couldn’t do you any harm.”

“Haha,” he retorted in response to her teasing tone.

 They entered the large, solid doors that led to the Boiler Room, and Fitz was immediately enveloped in blinking lights and the loud sounds of tens of students trying to relax. By “trying to relax”, he meant partying, and undoubtedly consuming unwise amounts of alcohol.

 “Oh, Fitz, look!” Simmons exclaimed. “It’s Sally! From neuroscience! We should say hello.” She didn’t really give him a choice, grabbing his arm and pulling him with her.

 “Sally!” she yelled, as she jogged up to the brunette from their monday morning class, who was sitting on the floor in a circle with five other classmates.

 “Oh, well, looky here,” Sally greeted, smiling up at the pair. “The two child prodigies. Come for a drink? Or are you too young?”

 Fitz knew that Sally’s teasing was harmless, but he still couldn’t resist the urge to correct her. “Oh, please. We’re British. I’m sure we could out-drink all of you if we tried.”

 Everyone in the circle smirked, and Fitz was certain that he saw Simmons smile to herself out of the corner of his eye.

 “Oh ho ho,” the guy to the left of Sally retorted - who, judging by the position of his arm, which was wrapped around her shoulders, Fitz guessed was her boyfriend. “Seems like they’re not quite kiddies, after all.”

 Sally gestured for them to sit down, which Fitzsimmons happily complied to do. She started gesturing to each member of the circle in turn, introducing all of them. “This is my boyfriend Mark. That’s Jane, Carey, Ryan, and Emmett. Are you two legally allowed to drink?”

Simmons smiled deviously. “Does it matter?” She could drink back home. Why not here?

Jane, who had visibly had a couple of shots, whispered loudly, “I like her.”

 Mark leaned forwards towards Fitz. “Do you really think you can out-drink us?” he asked mischievously.

 Fitz knew that no good decisions could come from this, but he had his pride. Besides, what would his mother say if she found out that he hadn’t defended their Scottish ability to hold their liquor? It had nothing to do with the fact that Mark had practically called him chicken.

 Fitz leaned forward too, feigning confidence. “Definitely.”

 Sally laughed. “Then, let the contest begin! Whoever can hold the most drinks without vomiting, passing out, or getting completely wasted wins. Who’s keeping score?”

 “I’ll do it,” Carey announced with a grin. “I was going to be making sure these guys don’t get into too much trouble anyway. I warn you now that I’m a tough judge.”

 “Bring it on.”

 

***

 

Bring it, they did. Within two hours, Carey had produced a notebook from her bag and was checking off names as people were disqualified, and the reasons why. Leave it Sci Ops to turn a drinking contest into an opportunity for studies and chart-making.

Jane and Ryan were the first to go, though it might have been unfair since they’d had a few shots before it all started. However, Fitz felt that if he questioned them the next day, they wouldn’t deny that they were completely wasted. He thought this because they were currently sitting off to the side eating each other’s faces in an attempt to make out.

Emmett was next. He passed out about ten minutes after he’d challenged some guy to a dance off. He was in the middle of doing the worm when he just fell unconscious on the floor.

Fitz looked over. Yep, he was still there, snoring.

 Sally lost her confident attitude when she had her seventh shot and promptly ran off to vomit. Once she came back, looking disheveled, she plopped herself down beside Mark, and fell asleep on his shoulder.

So then, it was just the three of them. “What are we at, Care?” Mark called over to Carey.

Looking down at her notebook, she yelled back, “Seven drinks each!.”

“Ready to forfeit, kiddos?” Mark teased.

“Nope,” Fitz said firmly. Then, he felt something tugging his arm. He turned his head to see Simmons trying to get his attention.

“Can I talk to you for a second, please?” she asked. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. Excuse us a minute,” he said to Mark, before letting Simmons drag him off.

Once they reached another part of the room, she turned to him, arms crossed. “How far are you going to go with this?” she questioned. 

“Until I win.”

“He’s like twice your size!” Fitz could see that Simmons wanted to ramble about alcohol intake and how it corresponds with size and the inevitable way it causes certain reactions in your health, but her mind was obviously slowed a bit by the drinking.

“Yeah, well he hasn’t exactly been raised in my family…”

“You’re sticking with this until the end aren’t you?” she demanded. “Fine,” she answered herself when she saw his set expression and started to walk away.

Fitz grabbed her arm. “Simmons…. If I fall into an alcohol induced coma, could you tell my mother I love her?”

She smiled and put a hand on his chest, the other wrapped around his shoulder. “How about no alcohol induced comas at all?”

Fitz paused for a moment. “I can’t promise that. And scratch that first request. If I fall into an alcohol induced coma, tell my mother I was challenged to a drinking contest. She’ll understand.”

“Yeah, lets just keep you away from comas, in general. No comas. At all,” she said in response as she started to walk them back to Mark.

They sat back down, together. Simmons herself even called for the next round.

 

-

 

Half an hour later, she was out.

“I forfeit,” she said reluctantly. “The room is spinning.”

Mark leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. He shifted the sleeping Sally so that her head was on his lap, before speaking.

“You’re a tough one, I’ll admit,” he slurred. His speech was so impaired that Fitz could barely understand him. His own words were clipped and linked as well, but he had played enough games of chess to know when victory was close.

 

-

 

Surprisingly enough, it only took two more shots to make the older man surrender. He was bent over, wheezing in order to stop himself from vomiting.

“I fold,” Mark announced. “You win, kid.”

“How are you human?!” Carey exclaimed in Fitz’s direction. “You’re seventeen, right?” She double checked what she’d recorded on her notepad before gawking at him again. “You just had twelve drinks over the course of three hours! And you’re still standing?!" 

“I have my ways,” Fitz said coolly, taking Simmons’ arm and helping her stand. As he walked his best friend out of the Boiler Room, he called “Thanks for playing!” over his shoulder.

He didn’t need to look back to know that people were staring at him. Fitz had been stared at enough times throughout his life. He might as well give them a good reason to.

 

***

 

Whether he’d anticipated it or not, the story got around pretty quickly. There were murmurs - more than usual - about him in every class. One guy came up to him to ask for a hangover cure. Fitz declined. About thirty people stared at him in the hallways. At one point he even passed a group of people recounting the events of the previous night.

Fitz was sort of proud. With that said, it hadn’t been much different than any of the times he’d had a drinking contest with one of his endless second cousins at a family reunion. Now, _those_ could get interesting.

He became the one to beat, at an alarming rate. The mutually agreed upon words were left unspoken, but they stayed true across campus. If you could out-drink Leopold Fitz, you were granted unlimited bragging rights.

Every time he went down to the Boiler Room after that, people challenged him, and Fitz could never turn down a bet. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him that he’d drank with hundreds of SHIELD recruits.

No one ever did win those bragging rights, though. Not to this day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry about the coma comment. I couldn't help myself.


End file.
